Tree

It wasn't exactly the most amenable of situations in which to find oneself, thought Kelendris wryly. It might be better to pay heed to the biotech in future...
      He shook himself minutely. He could worry about that later. He was here, now, and had to make the best of things.
     It had all started in such a straightforward manner too...

The world's native inhabitants called it Unge, not the most euphonious of sounds – in fact it reminded Kelendris of the CalCol uuidj, a generic term for anything unpleasantly messy or tactilely slimy. Which was a terrible pity, because the world itself was incredibly beautiful. Kelendris had stepped lightly from the cool sterility of the shuttle into a shifting melange of sparkling pastel colour, the landing area surrounded by tall angular translucent shimmering shapes half-buried in deep drifts of what he tentatively assumed were flowers, the upper flanges of the blooms bleeding off into intense ultra-violet flares. The two white suns, one at zenith, one slowly sinking towards the far horizon, cast intriguing and somewhat disorientating shadows over the uneven, crystal-studded ground.
     He took another step forward, more to immerse himself in the experience of the landfall rather than in response to the irritated grumble from the Plarithdi guard in whose way he had stopped, and breathed deeply. He could detect fragrance in the oxygen-rich air, though given the paucity of the Fohmatraan sense of smell it was faint and unidentifiable. He thought it was probably sweet, but would need to run it through the bio-sensors to establish exactly what it contained. Presumably it attracted pollinators of some kind, although he could see nothing he recognised as insects...
     He caught himself, and frowned. He was making assumptions. Very bad thing to do. Unge had only recently come to the Collective's notice: they knew very little about the world as yet.
     Which was, of course, why he was here, both as xenobotanist and handy telepath, to examine the flora and the native mind. He had a good team, too – the Norandi botanists Faanan and Seetol, Garyll the Shaedan biotech, and a young and enthusiastic Dothnach, Gransa, who to the Fohmatraan's amusement was somewhat in awe of Kelendris. Then again, he was newly offworld and newly Collective-appointed, and Kelendris was the first Fohmatraan he had ever seen. His academic credentials were excellent, however, and once he began work he forgot his fascination with his team leader.
     "Oh. Oh, that's beautiful..."
     Kelendris smiled gently, glancing down as Gransa came to a halt beside him, double-pupiled bright orange eyes wide as he gazed around the clearing.
     "Indeed. This expedition will be pleasant as well as most interesting."
     Jalth, the Plarith security chief, grunted, not looking up from his monitor.
     "Nothing obviously dangerous. But I don't want any of you wandering off without a guard, at least until we've confirmed all's safe." He raised his head to glower at Kelendris. "That means you, too, kat'ah."
     The Fohmatraan stifled a sigh. While under Jalth's protection, he'd only 'wandered off' once - well, twice, but the second time hadn't been altogether his fault – but he was obviously never going to be allowed to forget it. He inclined his head, opalescent mane drifting over his shoulder in the light gravity.
     "I shall behave with becoming respect for the environment and take all due care when I leave the camp."
     Jalth glared at him, then nodded.
     "See that you do."

Ever practical, the Norandi quickly had the camp set up: as usual the team would sleep and eat in the shuttle, but their equipment needed to be unpacked and installed in the clearing itself. Jalth and his two underlings performed all the heavy lifting with admirable care and precision, then busied themselves establishing a secure perimeter and rota for guard duty. Privately Kelendris thought they were taking their duties too seriously – the natives were demonstrably peaceful, and a quick *scan* had revealed nothing threatening in the immediate area. There was certainly no large fauna onworld, and as far as he'd been able to establish, no insects either. Still, it was always better to be careful. The Plarithdi would be the ones to suffer should anything happen to their precious Fohmatraan.
     Happy as he was that his welfare was so vigilantly safeguarded, just occasionally he wished it wasn't necessary, that he could be free...

The native delegation arrived after they had eaten their first meal onworld, and the Collective representatives greeted them respectfully. They were a uniformly slight species, with between eight and twelve pairs of flexible legs tipped by rounded, sharp-clawed digging paws running down the lower half of their long, sinuous bodies: the upper torso had four manipulative limbs just below what passed for a head. They lived in compact burrows underground, and spent most of their time digging. Their bodies were covered by a tough, thick, attractively mottled skin, smooth and hairless to facilitate movement through the earth, and their voices were two-toned, both high and piercing and deep and powerful, which carried for great distances underground. They had only limited technology, never having needed to develop anything much beyond the simplest tools: their obvious love and respect for their homeworld and their philosophy of doing as little harm to the planet as possible had led them to a very basic and simple way of life. 'Uncivilised', the Plarithdi called it in private, but Kelendris could empathise. After all, Fohmatraans did much the same.
     Though he couldn't understand why they didn't revel in the extraordinary beauty of their outer world. For some reason they avoided it as much as possible, choosing to spend all their time in the dark...
     It probably had much to do with their biology, he decided. Their eyes were dark-adapted – tiny and rather primitive, able to distinguish light and dark and basic shapes, but apparently not sophisticated enough to make out gradations in colour. Their senses of touch, smell and hearing were highly advanced, however – which made sense given their way of life. They were fascinated by their guests, and particularly by their hair, having none of their own. Kelendris found himself besieged by Ungins running their manipulative digits over and through his mane almost constantly at that first meeting.
     Although non-telepathic, they had a kind of rudimentary hive-mind over and above their discrete individualities, enabling them to work co-operatively even when separated by a considerable distance underground. Their overall temperament was non-aggressive, pragmatic and tolerant, and they hadn't been the least bit bothered by finding out that they were only one amongst a multitude of other species in the galaxy, accepting the appearance of the Rusc – who had first discovered them – with curiosity and a touching welcome.
     Their visit was short – being above-ground left them uneasy – but cordial, with reassurances of respect and benevolence from both sides. The Unjins had shared their somewhat limited knowledge of their homeworld with their guests, presented them with a small but hugely valuable selection of rare gems and minerals as a gift, then left for the darknesses again, pledging their assistance if it was needed.
     "A nice people." Gransa's voice was low as he watched the natives slide sinuously into a small opening in the ground at the edge of the clearing, an entrance dug especially for their visit, apparently. Kelendris nodded.
     "Gentle and courteous."
     Garyll had grinned at them.
     "Makes a nice change." He sobered and frowned at the Fohmatraan. "You all right? You look pale."
     Kelendris blinked, then smiled. He hadn't noticed, so interested he'd been in the native delegation, but he was feeling a little dehydrated. Possibly an effect of this world's atmosphere. He inclined his head.
     "I shall bask for a while. Perhaps I might ask you to run an atmospheric chemical analysis while I do so?"
     "Of course. Rest well, sheya."

Some local hours later, rehydrated and rested, Kelendris rejoined the team. Garylll nodded at him.
     "You'll need to bask more frequently while we're here – there's considerably less water vapour in Unge's atmosphere than you're used to. In fact, I'd suggest you wear a wetsuit when you're outside..." The biotech laughed at the look of distaste that flitted over the Fohmatraan's face. "Yes, I know, you don't like them, but if you're going to travel any distance from the camp I might have to insist."
     Kelendris nodded reluctantly. Garyll would be held responsible for any avoidable physical harm the team suffered.
     "Very well. I have no wish to cause you any inconvenience."
     "Oh, it's no inconvenience to me, but you'll be much more efficient if you're sensible and don't endanger your health."
     "How far?"
     "How far can you go without the suit? To be safe, I'd say no further than it would take you a local hour to return."
     The Fohmatraan nodded thoughtfully. That should be enough for him not to need the wetsuit: their base was set up in a particularly rich and varied area, botanically speaking.
     "Very well. Thank you."
     Garyll quirked an eyebrow.
     "You will remember, won't you?"
     Kelendris nodded.
     "I will most certainly endeavour to do so."
     The biotech growled under his breath, but let the subject drop for now. Kelendris was obviously ready to make a start on his part of the expedition; he wore his preferred working coverall, a fine, close-fitting silvery mesh that covered most of his body and provided protection while still allowing him tactile access to his environment. Gransa was staring wide-eyed: the coverall was effectively transparent, only slightly thicker over the long, graceful hands and feet to guard against accidental damage to the delicate webbing between the digits. He lowered his head as the Fohmatraan glanced in his direction.
     "Are you prepared?"
     The Dothnach nodded, shouldering his pack, eyes averted. His skin was too dark to show anything like a blush, but Garyll could feel the heat radiating from his body as he fought to keep his reaction to Kelendris under control. Eh well. Knowing Fohmatraans, once Kelendris had realised what was happening he'd probably deal with the situation in his own inimitable way... He glowered at them both.
     "No more than two hours. I'm relying on you," he pointed at Gransa, "to make sure he doesn't stray too far or forget the time."
     The Dothnach swallowed nervously, hastily setting his chronometer.
     "Understood, sheya."
     "Very well. Have a successful trip."
     Kelendris inclined his head.
     "Our thanks. I am sure we shall..."

They'd set off walking side by side, Gransa recording everything around them on his portable monitor while Kelendris touched, brushing long fingers over rippling organic surfaces, crystalline veining, cold brittle 'petals', pausing to examine a particular plant more closely every now and then. After a while he paused, thigh-deep in a drift of shimmering silvery vegetation, and frowned at the Dothnach.
     "This is very strange."
     Gransa had been taking surreptitious glances at the supple body in the silver mesh, the long, lean legs, the way Kelendris' thigh-length mane flowed around him as he moved through the alien vegetation, the Dothnach's thoughts on anything but their mission, and now stopped to stare at the Fohmatraan.
     "What's strange, sheya Kelendris?"
     One long arm reached out to gently stroke a 'flower'. A sparkling stream of what Gransa thought was pollen burst from the sides of the bloom at Kelendris' touch; it settled on the Fohmatraan's hand, glinting in the sunlight.
      "This does not serve to fertilise the plant."
     Gransa's curiosity clicked into action. He came closer, peering at the silvery powder, running the botanic 'scepe over it before gathering a little into a container for later and more detailed analysis.
     "What is it, then? What purpose does it serve?"
     Shimmering eyes glanced at him then back to the powder.
     "That we will need to establish..." Kelendris gazed around the vicinity. Ahead of them were several of the tall, angular shapes that he'd been tentatively equating with trees: he prowled forward and laid both hands against a 'trunk'. It gave slightly, and was cool and rough against his skin. The 'leaves' were high up, broad fin-shaped structures, almost transparent, a pale silvery grey against the brightness of the sky.
     Kelendris extended a claw and scratched at the surface, cautiously.
     The 'tree' shuddered. Gransa gripped his monitor in excitement.
     "Did you see that?" He shook his head, embarrassed. "Sorry, sheya, of course you did. What happened?"
     Kelendris was pressing himself against the 'trunk', frowning up into the leaves several times his height above them.
     "I think... it reacted to my action."
     "Should it do that?"
     "Most fauna has some sort of nervous system, primitive as it usually is..." The Fohmatraan turned his head, resting his cheek against the 'trunk'. "But generally speaking very little in the way of tactile sensory receptors." He pressed a claw-tip against the surface: the tree quivered very slightly. "Most interesting..."
     He fell silent, eyes closing, holding very still as Gransa watched warily and continued recording. After a few moments the opalescent eyes opened and regarded him sombrely.
     "I believe there is sentience here – but it is not responding to my attempts at communication." He gazed upwards. "I need to get closer..."
     And without warning he began to climb, claws extended, lithe and fast in the light gravity despite the tree's apparent attempts to shake him off.
     "Kelendris!" Gransa stood helplessly, gazing after his colleague, still recording but completely unable to do anything else. The tree was unscaleable without specialised equipment – or claws...
     The Fohmatraan disappeared behind the veil of 'leaves'.
     "Kelendris!" Gransa backed away from the tree, peering upwards, unable to see the Fohmatraan for the 'leaves'... which seemed to be moving around the trunk, as though deliberately hiding the alien from view.
     Gransa grabbed for his communicator, trying to make contact with the base – only to find the unit giving out nothing but an eerie high-pitched static. And they were at least half a local hour's run from the shuttle, by the time he'd fought through the thick vegetation. He tried the communicator again, willing it to work, but all he heard was the shrill ululating squeal. He wavered for a moment, agonised, not knowing whether to stay here in case Kelendris reappeared or race back to base for assistance. Finally the latter won: he was too inexperienced to cope with this by himself.
     "I'm going for help!" His shout went unanswered. Sure he was doing the wrong thing, but unable to think of any other course of action, he turned and began to force his way through plants that seemed to be determined to impede his progress.

Kelendris had breached the first layer of leaves and found that the trunk split into four before rejoining a little further up, creating a space between four silvery columns that was just large enough for him to stand in. Curious, he slipped into the space, hands braced on two of the columns – only to find himself trapped as long fibrous tendrils burst from the columns and wrapped themselves tightly around him. Bemused, he held still. It should have been alarming, but there was no sense of menace.
     Even when two of the tendrils pushed down under the neckline of his coverall, snaking slowly and sensuously over his skin as they headed unerringly downwards.
     He shivered. The tendrils were coated in something that tingled as they moved over him, deliciously cool, slightly rough and intensely stimulating. Distantly he heard Gransa shouting, but by the time he'd summoned enough presence of mind to reply another tendril, thicker this time, had pushed its way gently into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and coiling over his lips: it tasted hot, spicy and moist, and effectively prevented him from calling out. Then the thinner tendrils had reached the edges of his sheath and eased inside, exploring, and he closed his eyes as his body responded instantly.
     And he became aware of something - not a voice, or a *voice*, but something was definitely trying to communicate. He allowed himself to relax, held safely in the supporting tendrils, intrigued when they lowered him to the floor of the little chamber in the tree's trunk – which bulged outwards to make room for him to lie full length. As the fibres withdrew from his arms and legs - and his mouth, to his regret - he squirmed out of the coverall and lay back, allowing the tendrils to explore further while he allowed his mind to drift...
     He was aware of the tendrils pulling back the edges of his sheath, easing his shaft out into the air and stroking the achingly sensitive inner surface, twining with his own fibrils, quivering against his flesh as he crested, whimpering very quietly at the intensity of it.
     The tree shuddered with him – then renewed its assault on his senses, pale golden 'flowers' appearing from the tendrils and showering him in the silver powder, a narrow tendril easing between his lips, a sharply spicy viscous liquid trickling from its tip onto his tongue, tingling over the inside of his mouth and his throat when he swallowed: two more laved the inside of his shaft with something similar that stung slightly, prickled and tingled and intensified sensation. He moaned quietly, settling himself more comfortably as he let pleasure wash over and through him – and then he realised that this was the tree communicating. And not just this tree: all the plants in the vicinity were joining in.
     He blanked his mind, making himself receptive mentally as he had physically, and understanding came. Not in words, or images, but in something much more subtle, sensations, hazy emotional effects and a huge sense of satisfaction. He couldn't be absolutely certain he had it correct, but the tree didn't seem concerned. Assuming it could feel concern, that is. Kelendris doubted it.
     They were lonely. The species that shared the world with them lived under the ground, tickling and teasing their roots, their foundations, much as he had tickled their body with his claws, but leaving them unsatisfied. They wanted – needed – more than that. And while pleasuring each other – or perhaps themselves; they had only the haziest notion of separateness – served the purpose of stimulation, it wasn't enough any more. They needed company. Company they could feel, and pleasure, and tastesmellhear...
     And why had the alien not given up his essence as they had? They wanted to taste him...
     Bemused, Kelendris lay still for a moment. Fohmatraans didn't ejaculate except for procreation, which he had never been called upon to perform. He wasn't entirely certain he could, without a female and the compelling need for a new life. But it would be at best churlish to refuse the trees, and at worst downright insulting after they'd given so much of themselves to him. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine he had been called, was in the company of one of his own kind...
     It didn't work. Annoyed with himself, he stilled his mind, focusing on what the tree was doing, enfolding his shaft in twined tendrils, approximating a female organ as best it could. He realised, distantly, that they could apparently understand him considerably better than he could them, then he cried out as a soft, wide tendril cupped the exquisitely sensitive mound of flesh at the inner base of his shaft and sucked.
     It felt as though he'd been dissolved and turned inside out and back again in a heartbeat. Not exactly painful, no, but not the most comfortable of experiences either. He lay shaking, trying to catch his breath, as individual tendrils licked gently at limp, aching fibrils and the quivering interior of his shaft. Finally, having thoroughly cleaned him, two of the tendrils rested lightly on his chest, stroking over shivering golden skin.
     A deep sense of satisfaction came from the tree – along with what he took as a compliment for his taste. He managed to smile, bemused when the tendrils lifted to shape themselves into a stylised smiling mouth. It was at that point he became aware of the voices, shouting his name. And the fact that the Plarithdi were debating cutting down the tree to try to find out where he was.
     Sitting up too quickly and making his head spin, Kelendris clutched the nearest trunk column and managed to call down half-coherently, assuring them of his continued good health and that he'd rejoin them shortly. And under no circumstances to damage the tree...
     Dragging on his coverall was painful – his skin was overly-sensitised, and his groin hurt – but he managed it. Standing on the edge of the chamber he took a breath and made to turn to climb back down, only to find himself lifted and lowered to the ground by sturdy tendrils. Gransa almost collapsed against him, hugging him tightly, not noticing his pained wince.
     "Thank the maker... I didn't know what to do!"
     Garyll did not look happy. Neither did Jalth.
     "What did I tell you about wandering off!?"
     Kelendris tried to answer, to apologise, but a wave of dizziness suddenly swept through him. The next thing he knew he was cradled in Jalth's upper arms, the Plarith striding angrily back to base, wading through the thickest foliage as if it were non-existent, Garyll following in his wake muttering imprecations about Fohmatraans who would not do as they were… advised.

An hour later, sprawled in the shuttle's small pool and slowly recovering, he forced himself to give a detailed report on the experience to a wholly fascinated audience. Even Jalth was listening, frowning slightly. Garyll kept running his medical 'scepe over the Fohmatraan as if unwilling to believe he could be unaffected.
     "Soooo..." Jalth's deep voice was pensive. "They communicate with sex."
     Kelendris nodded.
     "In essence, yes."
     Gransa snickered. Garyll glared at him, and he lowered his eyes.
     "Any sex?" Seetol was leaning forward, her curiosity roused. "How would they treat females?"
     Kelendris smiled.
     "I assume they would gather the impressions of how you would normally engage in procreation and effectively take the male part for your species."
     Seetol blinked, her eyes widening, and turned her head to look at Faanan, who stared straight back. She smiled slowly.
     "Well, we mustn't be unfriendly now, must we. After all, we are Collective representatives..."
     Kelendris managed to haul himself unsteadily upright and raise a hand as they all rose to their feet. They halted and gazed at him.
     "I am sure you will all be welcomed. However, may I suggest you do not all... 'be friendly' at the same time? I cannot guarantee that the trees can distinguish between our species if they have to learn more than one at a time." He glanced between Jalth and Seetol to make his point: the Norandi blanched, her legs pulling tightly together unconsciously.
     "I see what you mean..."

"Are you recovered now?"
     Kelendris has been drowsing, floating on his side on the water in the pool: he lifted his head to smile sleepily at the Dothnach.
     "Thank you, yes. I am fine."
     "Good." Gransa hesitated, then squatted down at the edge of the pool. "Sheya, I wondered..."
     Kelendris waited for him to continue, but he seemed embarrassed.
     "Wonder what, sheya? Please do not be self-conscious. Or would you prefer me to *scan* your meaning?"
     Gransa shook his head rapidly.
     "No, no, no need for that, sheya Kelendris. No... I was wondering... Is it true that you, too, use sex to communicate?"
     "It is. Though not usually to such an intimate degree as the trees." We'll have to devise a whole new taxonomic system for this world, he thought fleetingly.
     Gransa licked his lips.
     "So, if I asked to... I mean, would you... with me...?"
     Kelendris nodded gravely.
     "If you wished it, yes."
     Gransa grinned and peeled off his coverall...

© 2007 June 1^st Joules